Chasing
by TheIvoryLeaf
Summary: Teen Sherlock's latest spy: his dealer. POV of dealer. Includes Mycroft, and a twist! If there are to be more chapters...
1. Chapter 1

Normally I don't follow my clients home. After all, what kind of rookie mistake would that be? I'm not stupid and I'm definitely not some bloody wanker who gets off on watching people shoot up. But this boy… he was _special_.

He had intrigued me from the first moment I set eyes on him. Tall and thin with piercing grey eyes and a mess of curly dark hair. Now I'm not gay or anything so don't get any ideas, but I'm telling you he was something spectacular. As most business relationships go, I never got to ask for his name. It was one of our 'rules'. Oh God, I really hated those rules. They were the norm. and I usually accepted them from my clients without a second thought, but if I could count the times I tried to work around those establishments with Grey Eyes….

Ahem. Back to the story. Like I said, I don't usually follow clients home. And that story should have remained the same for Grey Eyes. It's not my job to judge or care what my clients do with the materials I give them, just so long as they pay me. He would only buy cigarettes off of me, along with the occasional white balloon of cocaine, and he always paid up front. Rich kid. He went to Hudson, the richest boarding school in the area. Which I confirmed, after, well… Following him home. I'm really not a stalker! I just thought that there was something about him that was worth investigating. So I followed him. And I didn't think anyone noticed.

A few months after I had been selling to this kid, some weird things started happening. I would sell him his cigarettes and start walking home, and I'd notice the street cameras following me or I'd catch the eyes of a few more people than one would expect. I thought I was just being paranoid or something, but it kept happening, until one day when I was walking home after selling some coke to Grey Eyes I felt my phone vibrate. I pulled it out expecting a text from another client or maybe my mom or Harry, but instead it was a blocked number. I thought it was weird, so I opened it up and froze when I read the text.

_**Get in the car. **_

Panicked, my eyes flew upward, scanning the streets. Thankfully, they were deserted, aside from a black luxury car that pulled onto the street I was on.

I took off running, sprinting down alley after alley, stopping only after I figured there was no way they could have followed me. I slowed my pace to a jog before leaning against a brick wall in a dead end alley, relishing in the fact that I wasn't dead. Yet. Not that they were trying to kill me or anything… _right?_ I shuddered at the thought. Sinking to my knees, I rubbed my hands over my face and shook my head. This was just way too intense. There had to be a better way to make some cash. As boring and banal as it sounded, maybe working at McDonald's or Wendy's would be a better idea than selling. Safer, at least.

As I pondered this idea, a shadow consumed me. Slowly looking up to my doom, I saw an older man carrying an umbrella looming over me.

"Don't make this harder for yourself, kid."

I stood up way too quickly, and had turned to run when I heard fingers snap and four strong hands grabbed my arms and began dragging me back onto the main road, where the black luxury car was waiting.

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The inside of the car was dim. The tinted windows blocked out the small amount of light shining from outside. I sunk into the seat that I had been forced into and closed my eyes. I didn't know what was going on, and all I could do was pray that these people weren't part of the police and were coming to arrest me. Little did I know, these people were far more dangerous than any police squad.

I had started to plan out my excuses inside my head as to why I had drugs on me, when a pointed cough removed me from my thoughts. I opened my eyes and scowled at the collected man, who lips turned up slightly in a smirk. _Who does this guy think he is anyway? You can't just kidnap someone in broad daylight! _I began to vocalize this retort to him, when he held up a hand commanding me to be quiet. I wasn't pleased with this idea, and I almost went against him before a thought hit me. _Wait a minute. __**Wait a minute. **__This guy was probably the dude moving those cameras! Great, I'm not crazy! But then… that means he had control over the CCTVs and can organize a kidnapping in broad daylight in which there are zero witnesses whatsoever. Imagine what he could do to me; a dealing little punk with failing grades from a lower middle-class family. The police probably wouldn't even try to search for me. Woah, hold up, did he just say my name? _I focused on man in front of me, who was staring at me intently, waiting for me to respond.

"Sorry, uhm, but did you just say my name?"

The man cocked his head and sighed, "Pity. I guess my records were wrong. I knew that you had failing grades and a long-term relationship with Marijuana, but I never mistook you for an idiot, John Hamish Watson" He tutted and turned to the woman sitting beside him. "Anthea, it turns out that Mr. Watson here isn't exactly capable of our compromise so let's just drop him off at the local prison. I'm sure he has enough drugs on him to stay there comfortably for, what, 20 years?"

"What, no, NO! You can't, please! I don't even know what the compromise is, how do you even know all of this about me, why are you—" I broke off, hyperventilating and nearing tears. I know that crying shows weakness, but this umbrella man had me in the palm of his hands. If I went to jail, my family would entirely collapse. We needed the money I made from dealing. My dad had died in Afghanistan and my mum worked two shifts at the hospital as a nurse while my sister Harry boozed. My mum thought I was earning all of this money from working all the time at the local diner. She didn't need to know about my personal life. The knowledge of the real source of the money would probably kill her. I couldn't do that to my family. I'd do anything but that.

"Please," I sobbed "Just tell me the compromise. I'll do it. Just don't take me away from my family. They need me to support them, this was just the only way-" I was aware that I was totally melting down in front of a stranger, but I couldn't stop. The man looked bored, and the beautiful woman apparently named Anthea glanced at me with disdain from over her phone, never ceasing to stop typing.

"Shut up, please." The man closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Unfortunately, this compromise will require you to leave your family for a short while. However, they will be looked after and made incredibly comfortable. Now, are you capable of remembering this morning? In particular, do you remember the only client you met with?"

I stopped crying and looked up. What could this man want with Grey Eyes? I peered at him through sore eyes and noticed that while this man was considerably fatter and uglier than my elusive client, they shared some of the same features. They couldn't possibly be related, could they?

"Y-yes, I remember him well enough. Why. What do you want with him?"

"You have been selling him cigarettes for a long time now, yes?" Good, okay. He didn't seem to know about the cocaine.

"… I have," I admitted after a pause. I still didn't trust this guy whatsoever, even if he did kind of look like the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. Again, not gay I promise.

"Yes, well, while I have nothing against the smoking, I need someone to live with him and watch over him to make sure he doesn't get into harder drugs or materials. Considering that you are actually his 'dealer' of sorts and would obviously be the person Sherlock went to for harder drugs, we decided that you would be a perfect fit for the job." His name must be Sherlock then. Sherlock, _Sherlock. _It was perfect. The name fit the face so well and flowed with such ease, it was almost as if the syllables had worked themselves out as a result of seeing him as an infant. Woah, that was a bit… heavy. Sherlock. Nice name, yeah. Just that.

"So basically you want me to baby-sit Sherlock? Why? And I don't even go to that school!" There was no way I could manage to get into Hudson at all, not even in scholarship format what with my grades, and an athletic scholarship was out of the question with my bum leg.

"We have manipulated your old files so that you are now a 4.0 student, and always have been aside from a minor slipup as a first year where you pulled one B-. We have also arranged for you to be put in Hudson without scholarship. Don't worry about payment because it has been taken care of. As to why I want Sherlock to be looked after, the reasons are personal to myself. Let's just call me a concerned individual, shall we?" I frowned, the general answers were not reassuring in the slightest. The man seemed to pick up on my apprehension, and stepped in.

"Before you respond with your answer, I ask you to remember that all we're asking for is a weekly report on Sherlock along with a few texts here and there if he does something weird. We would also be keen to know if he was to involve himself in materials harder than cigarettes. Keep in mind that if you say no to this, we are more than willing to change course right now and drop you off at the prison, where you will be arrested and your family will be driven to destitution."

Well, that didn't leave much room for choice, now did it? While it hurt my conscience to spy on someone, my mum needed that money. I sighed and ran my hand through my hair before nodding.

"I'm in. I'll do it… What about my mum though? She'll wonder where I've gone." The umbrella man waved his hand toward Anthea. "Anthea has already worked all of that out. Your mother is convinced that you are safe. All of the technicalities have already been taken care of, we assure you" He handed me a card, "This is my work cell phone. Text me updates when you see them fit. That email is for the weekly status reports. I'll be expecting the first one on Friday." I nodded and took the car, mute, stunned, and more than a little afraid. I'd never had to spy on someone before, I didn't know how to be natural at it.

The rest of the long ride continued in silence. I absently rubbed my arm where one of umbrella man's goons had grabbed me too tightly. The conversation had lasted a little while, too long for them to not arrive at Hudson. Strange. They must have been circling the block or something. As I mulled that thought over in my head, the car rolled to a stop and my door was opened to reveal the large colonial grounds that made up Hudson Academy.


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N. Sorry! Sorry, so sorry! I forgot that I was supposed to be writing new chapters, and then I couldn't find the Doc Manager button... (Best excuse ever right there). I promise I'll write more often. Alright, on to the story!**

Chapter 3

The inside of the school was musty. Musty and extremely… _dim. _Oh, God. I knew that Hudson was preppy, but I was hoping that it wasn't going to be one of those "exceeding the standards of learning by being exceptionally dull" schools. I was seriously starting to consider backing straight out through the doors and running off into the wilderness to start a new life as "Hawkman, surveyor of the forest folk" when I stumbled into the front of a rather large man. Swiveling around, I met the eyes of my captor (I was really getting pumped about this Hawkman thing, okay?) Er, make that a rather large man who was not looking pleased in the least.

"Ahem, and how may I help you, _sir?_" He spat out the last word patronizingly. He must have thought that I was simply a lost boy searching for directions. In the school that's kind of in the middle of nowhere. Because that happen

"I, ahh, welll…." What was I supposed to say, exactly? That I was kidnapped and now I'm expected to go live with one of my clients so that he'll never shoot up again? That there's an extremely powerful man who somehow controls the CCTVs? That this fat angry man really looked like an angry Santa?

"Sir, my time is very much important to me. So unless you actually have a point to make, I implore you to actually verbalize your explanation or leave this learning establishment." Great, my first day here and I've already pissed off an authority figure. Some things never change.

"Er, I'm new here actually. My name's John. John Watson, sir." My words caught up with me, but I was still definitely stuttering. The man's eyebrows raised and he huffed a little, obviously looking me over and not liking what he saw. As if in habit, I looked back at him, looking him up and down and parroting his features as I frowned, 'not liking what I saw' either. Being "eloquent" may have not been my thing, but I can bring the sass up a situation when it's needed. I hate to say it, but I don't think that the sass was needed in this case.

"Yes, Mr. Watson, we've been expecting you. Now, in light of what your guardian has told us about your _disabilities_," My what now? Oh god, the Fat Man with the umbrella must have told them I was stupid or ADHD or something, or maybe he's just better at sass than I am. Nahhhh, that's impossible, I'l- He's frowning. I should probably focus a little more. "I will overlook the fact that you were loitering in the front hall. However, from now on it would be appreciated if you could move with a purpose from destination to destination. My name is Professor Hallbrook, I will be your advisor. You have not started out on my good side sir, and as your advisor I feel it is my duty to therefore inform you that my bad side is not a good place to reside. Now, follow me and I will show you to your room, where your belongings have already been placed." With that, he turned on his heels and began walking, leaving me with more questions than I'd had to start with. For a guy that looked like he was hoarding inner tubes underneath his shirt, he moved with surprising speed. Well, I guess that when you're Santa that's just kind of part of the deal. Still, I almost had to go into squats to avoid having to jog to keep up with him. Oh, the joys of being short. I'm like an elf... No, a gnome. The elf would have to like Santa. Still'd rather be Hawkman, though.

Professor Hallbrook didn't seem like the talkative type, probably because I was still on his bad side, so I let my thoughts carry me away as we marched and (in my case) half-jogged to the dormitories. It made sense that the original Fat Man told the school that he was my guardian, but I couldn't figure out what my disabilities were supposed to be. It'd be just typical that he told them that I have an intense fear of drowning in the air or something. Watch, before the day's up I'm going to be expected to wear those arm flotation thingies everywhere. He seemed like he was pretty protective of Sherlock; he had to harbor some hatred towards me. After all, it was kind of my fault that Sherlock started in the first place. I try to forget that day, not because of Sherlock starting or some stupid thing like that, that's just business even if he started in a distinctly unique fashion for my usual clients, but because of something else that went down.

Believe it or not, I'm not a particularly sensitive person. Unless I really care about someone. Then anything they do or say really rings true in my ears. There've only been a few people I've really cared about, though. My mum, my stuffed bear Paddie from when I was a kid (if you had tried to tell me that Paddie wasn't a person back then I probably would have clawed your eyes out), and my biology teacher, Mr. Stenson.

That fatal day had started out like any other day. I got up at about 7:15, and left the house at 7:30 after shouting goodbye to my mum. Then I walked down the street, turned in the opposite direction of the school, and jogged to the fence behind the local Harley's where I met up with my friends. We would chill there, in fact, I'd be there right now if today was any other day, and just mess around. It was "fun", stealing tires, getting stone drunk, harassing girls, and fighting. Pfft, what's with the sarcasm? It _was_ fun. It's actually a huge bummer that I'm not going to be able to get to do that for a bit, unless Hudson has a secret underground society of people who don't suck.

Anyway. So, I would hang out with my guys until about 12:30, then I'd find some excuse to leave. It helped that by this time most days we were at least a little tipsy, and that the schools had let out for lunch, so I would easily stumble away with the brilliant excuse of "finding a bird", to the glee of my fence crew. Can't lie, thanks to this I had a bit of a reputation as a pimp. HAH. Yes, because girls find me enjoyable.

Stumbling around the corner, I would run or at least try to jog into school so that I wouldn't be late for Mr. Stenson's biology. I was usually a few minutes late, but he was too so it all worked out in the end. The running would sober me up enough to allow me to participate most days, but other days I would just crash in the back of the classroom and sleep. Not that I wanted to, I really did like his class, but seriously? I was drunk and running to a class where I was needed mentally. There comes a time when you're expected of so much that you just... crash in the back of a biology lap with drool spilling out of your mouth.

Mr. Stenson was hard on the "burn out" crowd, and I definitely qualified. Most days I wore the same raggedy sweatshirt with jeans, and was nursing a pretty terrific start to a beard. My hair was greasy and in serious need of a haircut. Actually, make that _is_ in serious need of a haircut, ew. The school nurse here is probably going to cut it, how awesome is that. Also, as much as I hate to admit it, I don't think that my Axe spray always covered up the fact that I had been forgetting to shower.

For some odd reason, though, he was nice to me. Maybe I reminded him of himself, or some sentimental thing like that. He wouldn't wake me up if I crashed unless I slept through the bell and always gave me top marks. Okay, that last bit might have just been me and my "natural genius" if you can call it that, but I always thought that he graded me just a bit easier than everyone else.

This one day, though, something was definitely up. I came in a little bit later than usual, Mr. Stenson was already in the room and teaching, but this day he looked up at me and scowled.

"Jonathan, really, could you please at least try to be on time one of these days? It's like the only thing you're attempting to be in this world is a failure, and let me assure you, you're succeeding." He smirked at me as the rest of the class whispered to each other and laughed quietly while I stood in the doorway. I don't know why that comment hurt me so much, other teachers had been mean to me before. My English teacher even once did me the favor of stapling a job application to McDonalds to my essay with the note "this is where you're headed". But with Mr. Stenson it was different. With Mr. Stenson, I _cared_ what he thought. And as the rest of the class was tittering at his insult as he turned back to the board and began to ignore me, I felt something snap. Backing up, I turned and sprinted up the hallway and out of the school, and down to this grassy field about a mile outside of town. It should probably be stated that this was about a mile away from Hudson too, a sort of halfway point if you will. When I got to the field, I collapsed. Melodramatic, yeah? I didn't really care. I curled up into a ball and let myself cry. Like, really cry. Super hard. The kind that hurts. My world was crashing down around me. Mr. Stenson was the only guy who had ever believed in me, who had ever encouraged me to try something. I wasn't exactly a human to be proud of, but without him who knows where I might of-" The sound of a stomping from a little bit off made me stop my Oscar winning rant. I froze. Did you know you can freeze mid-cry? I sure didn't, and listened.

This field was always deserted. As in, in my entire life the only other people I had seen here were my clients. I lovingly call this field the Field of Sin, or Sin Field, if you will. But I wasn't scheduled to meet any clients today. So who could it be? The mafia? Totally the mafia. As weird as it sounds now in reflection, it made perfect sense to my tipsy, hormonal mind. Still in a ball, I cracked one eye open just a bit so that I could play dead if I needed to. What I saw though, wasn't exactly mafia material. A young kid, around my age it looked like, was sitting in the field, with his back to me. I could already tell that he was thin, but he was hunched over and sitting perfectly still so it was a little bit hard to see what else. I guess I wasn't the only one that came here to think, or, y'know, rage sob.

I waited for a few minutes, but when he didn't even sway or seem to be breathing I got worried. Standing up, the cracking of my knees sounded especially loud to my ears, but he didn't seem to notice. Or she, it could have been an extremely undeveloped girl, you never know. Come to think of it, I couldn't figure out where this person even came from. No tell-tale school uniform, just from the looks of it, a hoodie, jeans, and red converse peeking out from the tall stalks of beige grass. Hopefully there was a school insignia on the front or something, it'd be pretty disturbing to know that this somebody just stepped right over me and acted like I wasn't there.

"Hu-Hullo?" Perfect time for a voice crack. Thanks puberty. They didn't seem to hear me, though.

"Hello? You there, only guy in the field besides me, you okay?" Still no response. By this point I was right next to his, I could see now that it was a guy. I tapped his shoulder and crouched down beside him. His eyes were closed and his fingers were steepled under his chin, in an almost thoughtful position. I would've left him be, if it weren't for the distressed expression on his face. It was like he was trying to meditate or something, but it wasn't working.

"Oi! Respond, please. Do you need me to call someone for you?"

"They won't shut up."

"Oh great, a response! Now, who- wait what?"

"The voices. The thoughts. I just can't stop _thinking_." Oh what fresh hell is this. Seriously. What did I get myself into here. Either this kid's crazy, or he's suicidal, like me. No matter what, I already knew I wouldn't be able to help him.

"Listen mate, whatever you're thinking of doing, it's not worth it. Trust me. Surely there's someone who misses you or something." With that, the boy's eyes flew open and a really disturbing laugh left his mouth. For someone that looks so... er... y'know..innocent... the laugh didn't fit at all, okay?

"No one's ever going to miss me. I'm nothing but a burden. But no, I'm not thinking about suicide," He said suicide teasingly, like it was an idiotic assumption that I would even bring up the subject. "I just can't stop thinking and I don't know what to do."

Oh. Well, stopping thought is kind of my job description. I had never been more thankful that I had remembered my backpack for once. I had all of my supplies in it. Some of it I had gotten early for clients later today, but I could always get more.

"Think there's something you could take? I have some stuff in my bag if you wanna smoke it, it could help"

"No. I've tried that, all it does is make me eat and start laughing. I was miserable. The thoughts never stop though, they never slow down. I can't catch up."

"Have you tried taking something that helps you catch up?" This caught mystery boy's attention. He glanced at me, frowning. He really did look young, if he hadn't tried anything, I didn't want to throw hard things on him yet.

"Smoking, maybe? Not pot, but cigarettes. It'd give you a jolt, think like a caffeine rush but, not. I have some here, if you want one." I pulled them out and lit a fag for myself. I know I said that I didn't do drugs myself, but the occasional cigarette doesn't seem like that big a problem. Mystery boy nodded after a beat, so I showed him how to smoke and lit it for him.

"I can do it myself, y'know" He mumbled at me as he took a drag. He seemed to be pondering this new method of relaxation. We sat in silence for the remainder of our smokes, then we both got up.

"Do you think I could get your number and call you for more? Just for when I can't stop thinking."

"Sure thing, kid." We exchanged phone numbers and left Sin Field. Strangely anticlimatic. But I haven't been back to Mr. Stenson's class since. I doubt I'll ever see him again, but I don't think I'll be trusting anyone anytime soon.

Huh. Oh look at that, in the time that I had spent thinking, we reached the dormitories. Seriously? The walk itself didn't seem to take too long, but that was some serious reflecting time right there. We entered the dorms, and Hallbrook led me to the second floor. 200 A 200 B, 201 A, the rooms seemed to be going suite style. We stopped at 221 B, and I was handed a little silver key.

"Go on in, your supplies have already been delivered, Mr. Watson. And see the nurse about that" He flicked his finger at my greasy golden mane, "that hair of yours. It needs a trim." And he was off. Good thing too. No one insults my mane and gets away with it. Actually, it was pretty gross I realized as I went to push my hair back and my hand came back with a shiny residue. Maybe a cut wouldn't be a bad thing.

Wiping my hand on my jeans, I faced the door, opened it and was totally unprepared for what greeted me on the other side.

**Liked it? Sorry if it's choppy, the original only had 457 so I had to add. Also, anything in this that is offensive is not my opinion. I'm a nerdy, lonely Whovian who reads fanfiction. I'm not racist, homophobic, and whatnot. Unfortunately, John kind of is right now. But change is on the rise! Read, Review, Rate? It'd be cool and all. Thanks! :) **


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